Chapter one:

The sun rose in the west as Matthias strolled from his rectory to the Abbey of the Ariatha. He clutched the brown leather book in his right hand and a string of prayer beads in his left as he hurried along the road toward the temple in the center of the Abbey. Sweat beaded on the bald man’s forehead as he scuttled his plump body in his hurried walk. The heavy brown robes he wore didn’t help him, but in spite of the heat of the morning sun he gave a heartfelt pleasant smile to all that crossed his path. He pumped his pudgy arms and legs faster and faster without ever breaking into a full run. Matthias even tried to read some of the book while running. It was a story about the Great Lustration. The tale was of heroes and damsels in distress, where men of honor fought off the Miscreations. The stories of these times always enchanted Matthias. He would listen to the stories as a child and would sit entranced in front of his father as he spun tales of daring and courage. His father always said the Ancient One granted those attributes. He told him from a young age that the Ancient One was the source of all that was good in the world.

 His rope belt flung forward and jerked back with every meter he gained. Taking a moment to brush his wet brow with his forearm he thought to himself the penance he would have to take if he were late again. Daydreaming wasn’t helping him either.

The Abbey was already breathing with life as its inhabitants were out and about their daily chores. The scene of the scurrying short monk gave more than a few of the people a small chuckle. Ladies carried baskets of cloth to be washed near the wells. They chatted nonchalantly about their children and how to deal with one woman’s problem child. Gossip between the women was common but there was mostly good intent in the talk. They discussed remedies of ailments that their families had and recipes for the coming season’s food choices. Some children had found a small dog running through the dirt paths and chased it around the stores and people. Laughs and giggles were abundant. Men were talking of the unseasonable weather of recent days, while still others talked about the women. A woman exited her bookshop to place a sign in the window to begin her business day. Another vendor started shouting the prices and names of the goods he sold. The butcher hacked away at a fine piece of venison brought to him by the night traders who had hunted in the Talon woods to the south. The sounds of the morning echoed softly around the shops. Some knights of the Abbey bowed their heads towards Matthias and waved a good morning. Matthias gave them a small bow of respect and a toothy grin from his round face.

While Matthias hustled along he was asked to have a look at some meats, breads, and wines that he might like to purchase. Politely, he declined them all. He was enjoying the sweet smell of the morning as the dew beaded on grass. The dying wood fires still released their scent into the air. The warm breeze of the idyllic morning brushed this collection to Matthias’s nose, which breathed in lovingly. He then finally reached the temple.

The stone cathedral towered over him. Two towers framed the northern entrance to the temple. Stone carvings of knights in armor were positioned across the ledges of the wall, all in dramatic poses that told who they were. Another tower, grander in size and splendor when compared to the other towers, reached from the middle of the temple. It had one stained glass window to each direction, signifying the Four Virtues. On the top a statue of gold that showed a man in a flowing cloth with a helmet that covered his face and a sword raised into the air was sculpted. It was the representation of the Ancient One after the victory over the Miscreations.

 Matthias opened one of the great oaken doors that led to the interior of the temple. They stretched as tall as three men. The wood moved slowly with a groan as he pushed it forward. A wave of cool air hit Matthias as he exited the beating summer sun. The interior of the temple was a shimmering jewel to the eye of anyone who entered. Candles that sat upon brass saucer-like holders on the walls kept the temple at a low orange haze all day and night. The floor was made of hardened stained dark wood and showed no sign of the millennium of the faithful that have stepped, kneeled, and prayed on its hard surface. Two rows of pews filled the northern wing of the temple. The walls were covered with centuries old tapestries of the Great Lustration, the Time of Salvation, and the followers of the Ancient One. There were even a few paintings that depicted the Him, though in each his face was covered with his great helm. The wind extended to a center square where all four wings of the temple, one in each direction, met.

In the center of the square lay the tabernacle where the only true Ariatha sat forever encased. The tabernacle stood a meter high. Intricate designs carved on the stand bordered the archaic language of the text. On the top of the pedestal sat the text itself. A half-spherical glass covered a box of pure gold. On the box was inscribed a single phrase, “The Ariatha: Prayers for Mankind and the Era of Salvation”.

Taking another moment to wipe the remainder of sweat from his brow, he humbly stepped towards tabernacle. Matthias reached the front of the aisle and genuflected before the tabernacle that held the sacred book. Matthias held the position as the only person in the abbey who was allowed to read from the Ariatha. The sacred text had special rituals that one had to perform before he or she could touch it. Even with these performed, only the Reader could turn the pages. Matthias spent most of his life working to become the Reader. He was the only one alive who had seen the words in its original language. Matthias took upon himself the responsibility of being the only one alive that could understand its language enough to create new prayers. On this morning he was going to read a passage from the text to start his day when Brother Serian came through the doors. Matthias then washed his hands for the cleansing ritual. He dried them with a sacred cloth and prayed the words that would relinquish the protective powers of the tabernacle.

Matthias started to lift the glass of the tabernacle when he noticed that Serian was standing a few meters to his left. “Hello and good morning Brother Serian. How are you on this beautiful day?”

     Brother Serian Prail was a friend that Matthias had gained when he entered the order. He had a passion about him, but nowhere to really direct it. He was brilliant but slightly jealous of Matthias nonetheless because of Matthias’s title of Reader. Serian’s knowledge of standard prayers was second to none, he read his vernacular Ariatha daily and studied his prayers with a vigor unmatched by all but a few. The power of his healing prayers was as strong as any other monk's, except that of Matthias. He was always there for Matthias to talk about theology or other such studious things. They helped each other during their training as monks.

“I would say not well Brother Matthias.” Serian said. He had a stern look upon his face. “Abbess Tralia denied my request to study the free form prayer again. Her ignorance and apathy to that subject is infuriating.” Serian thundered toward Matthias. His head was shaking and his hands were in clenched fists when he was before his friend.

     Matthias looked with pity and worry at his childhood companion. “Brother Serian, to do free form prayer would mean that you would have to learn the language of the Ariatha. That is forbidden for anyone but the Reader.”

     Serian flashed his eyes at Matthias and started moving closer towards him. Jealousy was swelling in his irises. “I know rules, but we should be prepared for whatever evils should befall the Abbey. Matthias nodded in agreement with Serian’s statement. “What if the Sanguine Dale or, may time never see it, the Abbey should come under attack, would not knowledge of the language allow all the monks to defend the Abbey in whatever situation would arise?” Serian’s eyes flared with pent up frustration. Matthias was curious at what had started Serian on this little quest to study the potential of prayer.

     He absorbed Serian’s words. “Brother Serian, I have trust that we shall be protected in our time of need. Free form prayer is risky. Our standard prayers are heard by Him, what could possibly harm us.”

     Serian conceded that, “I know Brother Matthias, but is it not careless of us not to know the potential of prayers? There are so many doors waiting to be opened. Think of the great things we could accomplish.” Serian’s eyes flared with a glow of wonder and amazement.

     Matthias was worried at that moment. Worried about his friend Serian and worried about the relevant, if paranoid, arguments of his friend. “I don’t know Serian, but I believe that the Abbess must have had her reasons for not wanting you to study this aspect of prayer. It is not like her to do something without reason.”

     “Matthias, think of the good possibilities. We could save countless people with simple words. We have the power to heal and mend, but what if armies of Miscreations marched upon us? We would not have the Ancient One to help us then.”

     Serian moved even closer to Matthias, “We could wipe them out forever, right now. No more fear of the Miscreations.”

     Matthias still shook his head, “Serian, I understand your feelings on this matter, however, the Ariatha gives us the standard prayers, we should not deviate from them. The path you are speaking of may lead to dark prayers that would corrupt the soul. Pray for guidance my brother monk and you shall realize that there is no need for those prayers.”

     Serian grew fiery at those words, “No need! Matthias look in your precious books for truth. There are Miscreations still in the world. Orc tribes lie just north of the Maw of Rgric Mountains. The people fear them even now. The prophecy dictates that Halens will have to fight them off without the leadership of the Ancient One. With this power of prayer, we could destroy them now!”

     Matthias drew back from Serian with an almost fearful step back. “Serian, slaughter is not the way of our people. If war comes, we shall fight army to army.”

     “We are told by Him to defend the faith.”

     “Defend, yes,” Matthias rebuked, “but never attack. We cannot and will not be the aggressors in the conflict.”

     This did nothing to quell the rage in Serian’s face. Matthias walked over Serian to comfort him. Serian shrugged him off and left towards the doors. Matthias called after him, “I understand your zeal my friend, but the Abbess has her reasons.”

     Serian stopped and stood before the door, “You understand nothing, my friend. Nothing at all.”

     Matthias reached out to Serian, but Serian walked through the door before he could say anything. Matthias almost wished that he could pray that Serian would change his mind about it all.

     Matthias looked back at the Ariatha and flipped a few pages from the book to a prayer of guidance. He stared and chanted the words in the language that only he, the Reader, understood. He then closed the book and said the prayers in the ritual of closing the tabernacle. The immobile book could never be taken from its stand because of a prayer that held it there. It was to prevent theft, but it also meant that Matthias had to read the book standing. He placed the dome over the tabernacle and said some more prayers of protection for the book and temple.

Matthias stayed at the temple reading. He led the afternoon ceremony of worship at the temple. After talking with individual people after the ceremony, he gave blessings to the sick, and healed the injured. He grew a little weary of the mind after the intense prayers to help one especially ill child. After purifying her body and the other blessings of the day, the ability to pray blessing weakened in him. He cleaned the interior of the temple itself after all the people had left and began his daily meditation. The afternoon passed and by early evening his daily work was over.

     He thought about visiting his friend Michael to ease his mind of the situation with Serian. He headed south from the temple towards the barracks and stables near the southern gate of the city. Avoiding most of the marketplace, he reached the barracks relatively hassle-free. Once there he saw two men with wooden swords engaged in a sparing match. The men wore padded armor and headgear to protect them. Immediately Matthias saw Michael was one of them. Michael had the olive colored skin of a man from the southern part of the Sanguine Dale. Dark black hair in slight curls tied behind his head. Matthias saw that Michael wore yellow and his opponent wore blue. The yellow signified a lower rank, and with it skill, but Matthias decided to see if his friend would win this fight.

     The blades went up while the two men stood a few meters away from each other. They both waited for the other to make the first move, their right arms tense while holding the swords. The blue knight brought his arm about for a swing on Michael’s neck. Michael ducked under the swing and shifted to himself to his left. Quickly scurrying forward, he slapped the blue knight in the back with his wooden sword. The blue knight shook his head in disappointment and raised his sword for another round.

     “Ah, sure. You want to get another pat on the bum with me blade; I would be more than happy to oblige.” Michael said with a bow.

     He raised his sword to meet the blue knight’s. Michael tapped his sword against the blue knight’s blade, trying to irritate him into making a false move. The blue knight seemed more knowledgeable than that this time. He made a low slash thigh high. Michael twisted his wrist to parry and brought both swords over to his left. He then smashed into the blue knight’s face with the hilt of his sword. The blue knight stumbled backwards and clumsily brought his sword up to bear. Michael flicked his wrist again and smacked the back of the blue knight’s hand. His sword fell to the ground as he grasped at his stinging hand.

     Michael grinned widely, “Well me boy, it seems that your sword fell down. You might want to pick that up, seeing it might be important to you in a fight. Just a suggestion though.” The blue knight angrily picked up his wooden sword. “You want another go? Not the brightest candle are you.”

     The blue knight swung wildly at his chest. Michael easily dodged the blow. Michael continually ducked and dodged the swinging wood without bringing his own sword up.

     “Come on me enraged friend. Think clearly or all you will kill are errant flies that buzz in your way.”

     Michael planted his right foot into the ground and waited for the next swing. When it came he placed his weight into his right leg and let his left leg protrude out in front of the charging knight. The blue knight tumble into the dirt, raising a cloud of dust around him.

     “Get off of the dirt lad. Go clean yourself up. No harm done.” Michael helped the blue knight to his feet and patted him on the back. He started to walk with him when Matthias called out to him. Michael looked around and stared in confusion, and then he saw his friend and he motioned to Matthias to come into the barracks. Matthias walked over to the walled barracks and passed the gate with ease. He waited beside the wall near the cleaning room for a few minutes for Michael to emerge.

     Matthias leaned on the wall when suddenly he found two arms wrapped around him from behind. They then lifted his round body into the air. Matthias gave out a shocked yelp while being elevated. He was then lowered quickly. Matthias’s feet landed with a thump and he rejoiced at being on the ground again. Michael gave out an excited cry after putting Matthias down.

     “Its good to know I can still whip you up in the air me friend.” Michael said to his recovering friend. “I was worried that either you were getting heavier or I was getting weaker. Well I guess neither one is correct.”

     Matthias slowly sat down on a bench nearby. “I only wish that were true my dear friend.” Matthias looked at his friend with a little smirk on his face while patting his rotund belly. “But the real truth is, well, you grow weaker with each passing season.”

     They shared a laugh together for a moment. Michael then looked at his friend for a moment. “You know Matthias, I have known you since we were wee lads. You were a lot thinner and I was a lot uglier.”

     “Good to know that some things never change.” Matthias interjected.

     “Yes, well. For years I have known you, and I can always tell when you have something on your mind.” Michael walked over to sit on the bench next to Matthias. ”Methinks that you got something right now.”

     Matthias sighed and acknowledged his friend was correct. He looked at Michael for a moment. “I don’t even know if I should tell you this, old friend, but I trust you. It’s Brother Serian. You see,” Matthias said, “he is trying to mettle in something that is very dangerous, but it can prove very helpful. He seems obsessed with it.”

     Michael contemplated that for a minute before answering. “You know what, Methinks that obsession is dangerous to begin with. However, if it be helpful, you need to weigh the good and bad, then see if it helps more than it hurts.”

     “Well, the Abbess has said no to him, and he is crushed by it.” Matthias looked towards Michael with urgency. “He is a brilliant mind and doesn’t have direction. I think he might feel like his talents are going unused. But what he asked is radical.”

     Michael looked at Matthias puzzled. “What is he asking for?”

     “I don’t think I can tell you Michael. It’s just that I don’t know what to do.”

“Well my friend,” Michael stood up and turned to his friend. “There are two things you need to do.”

     Matthias looked up at Michael anxiously. Michael proceeded, “You need to talk to the Abbess about it in the morning.”

     “And?” Matthias asked.

     Michael smiled widely. “And, you need to get few drinks with me at the tavern.”

     Matthias smiled back at his friend and got up to leave with him. Michael was already in good spirits, so he started singing drinking songs even before they arrived at the bar.

     They opened the doors to the tavern looked about. There were patrons of all types sipping and chatting along the tables and counters. The tavern smelled musty and smoke filled the air from dozens of pipes. The musk of alcohol and tobacco was a little disorienting for Matthias, but then, everything Michael did was too. They swam through the crowd to find an empty table. The two of them sat at a table near a corner and discussed various things from the weather to the news.

     Matthias finally halted the discussion with a raised hand. “I don’t know about you my friend, but if we are to drink, let us drink.” Matthias then flagged a waitress to come over to the table.

     She was a red headed girl with a dark caramel complexion. Matthias also noticed that she had jade colored eyes that captured his attention. “Here are some bread rolls for you now.” She placed on the table a basket of rolls, “So gentlemen, what shall I get for you.”

     Matthias smiled at her, “Well I would like to order a jug of mead for the evening and for my friend Michael here… ah, Michael?” Matthias looked at his friend annoyed that he would not answer.

     Michael shook his head after Matthias hit him in the shoulder, “Oh…uh… I’ll get an jug of ale for the evening.” He sputtered, “Thank you, uh, miss.”

     Matthias chuckled as he turned to his friend. He then said mockingly, “Methinks that you like her me friend.”

     Michael picked up a roll and flung it at Matthias’s face. It slammed into his nose and rolled down on the table with a thud. “Now that was completely uncalled for.”

     “I have to disagree with you this time Matthias.” Michael said nonchalantly.

     They sat there talking and drinking through the night. As they finished their ale and mead, and the supply of rolls waned, they left the tavern under the torch light of the city. They exchanged their farewells and went their separate ways. Matthias headed back towards the rectory district to the north of the temple. Only moonlight and the occasional torch illuminated the dark city. He was tired mentally and physically but he thought it was a day well spent. He walked alone towards his home, but he said a few conversational prayers. He liked to think of the Ancient One as a friendly god who liked to listen. Sometimes, Matthias even thought he heard the Him talk back.

     He finally reached his house and lit a candle to walk around with. He went upstairs to bed. All seemed right in the Abbey, but Matthias’s mind grew hazy and irritated. He suddenly found a funny feeling in his head, as if something was biting at his brain. He shrugged the feeling off as just that, a feeling.

He did his normal nightly reading and blew out his candle. His sleep was restless, however, and Matthias tossed and turned all night long.

     *         *         *         *         *

     The moon shimmered towards the abbey with a kind, gentle light. The Abbey slept peacefully unknowing the dark figure who passed through its shadows on this evening. The figure held a minute flame that danced upon a slender wax candle. He shuffled under a large robe that concealed the figure from all those who might catch a glimpse of him. His eyes darted when he paused to see if anyone was following him. Sweat beaded on his head even in that cool night.

     The streets of the Abbey were vacant this night except for lone guard at the northern doors of the temple. He stood next to a torch on the wall behind. The guard leaned against a pillar trying to keep awake. He saw the man in robes come towards him. It was hard for him to tell who the man was in the darkness and his eyes squinted. He scratched his face and called out to the man in robes.

     “Hey there, who goes there?”

     The man in robes slowly looked up at the guard. His eyes flared for a moment. He pulled his hood back and revealed himself to the guard.

     “It is I, Brother Serian. No cause for alarm.” Serian chuckled. The guard sighed in relief. “I am just here for a late prayer, I thought that being in the temple would help.” Serian gave the guard a pleasant smile.

     “Well I see no harm in that Brother Serian, you may go on in.” The guard unlocked the door of the temple.

     Serian entered the temple slowly and took a seat in an aisle until the door closed. Then he quickly moved towards the tabernacle and started the incantation. He had arrived early enough that morning to hear Matthias speak it. A twirl of stars surrounded the glass dome. It moved up, then fell, vanishing. Serian then grabbed the dome and placed it out of the way. He said another incantation. The Ariatha swung open. Serian pulled out a copy of the vernacular version and paper to take notes. He copied words in the book into his notes as fast as he could. After an hour had passed he had copied an entire section of the Ariatha. He placed the parchments with his notes into his robes. He then closed the Ariatha and placed glass dome back onto the tabernacle.

     Serian stepped away from the altar and gazed at all of the exits. His lips cracked in a smirk. The doors of the temple opened quietly. The guard gave a nod and goodbye to Serian. Serian walked for a while until he was out of the sight of the guard then he rushed home. He entered his home and shut the door. Leaning on the door, Serian tried to regain his breath. He then took his notes and placed them on his desk. He stared intently at the words. They seemed to stare back defiantly. It was a puzzle that he would have to figure out. His quill scratched out phrases but they did not make sense. He finally gathered what he thought was a command. Serian spun in his chair and looked over towards his bed. Staring at the pillow, he spoke the words, a command to raise the pillow. Nothing happened. Serian slammed his hand upon his desk. His hand grasped the parchment and crumpled it. He could not decipher what was incorrect about his phrases.

     “The grammar! That’s it.” Serian said. But his joy at this realization was short lived. “But I cannot figure that out. I am no master of languages. Still, there has to be other commands in the Ariatha then just those weak prayers.”

     Serian jumped out of his chair with anguish in his face. The goal slipped just out of his reach. Something that would give him power. He roared around his small home, his fists smashing into whatever was near. Picking up a chair, he smashed it into the floor and dropped to the ground himself. While on the floor, Serian started to weep. His energy drained from his tantrum.

     “Why am I doomed to fail? Why must I be denied? I would bring glory to the abbey. The lives of those puny, weak people continue with happiness. They live content. Why must I suffer through discontentment? Mother wanted her son to be great. I was to be the grand knight. The generation’s debt to the Abbey was paid by my life. The gifts of the grand Ancient One, our benevolent god, were repaid with my blood. Mother wanted something else. Mother wanted more than a simple carpenter, blacksmith, or monk. She wanted power. I wanted make her see that I am true greatness. I am true power. But I cannot read those damned words.” Serian mashed his hands into his face.

     Wiping the tears from his face, he glared at his copy of the Ariatha, then his notes on the language. He scrambled towards the book as a phrase from the passage he took came into his mind. A smile came across his face and his eyes flared. He snatched the soft leather bound of the book into his hands. Feverishly he tore through the book to a scene from the Great Lustration. Serian then searched for the corresponding phrase in the language. He laughed out loud at the fact that he missed it. It was so simple. Right in front of him was power. He read the phrase. Then he remembered that every prayer began with the same phrase.

“I pray that…” Serian said in the language. He paused to try to formulate the next part. He stared at the crumpled parchment he threw earlier.  The passage had the Ancient One saying “And my people, you will burn with holy desire.” Then he said in the language what he wanted “… you will burn.” The paper on the floor flickered for a moment. Serian said it again. “I pray that you will burn.”

     The parchment lay engulfed in flames. A few seconds passed and the parchment changed into ash on the floor.

     Serian shrieked his triumph into the air. Focusing his mind, he realized that he only peered into the power that was awaiting him. He calmed himself and sat at his desk. Serian searched for other phrases that would give him power. He fell asleep with his notes under his head.